Plantation Sanhaja
New Dzayer Region
Dabih
Draconis Combine
January 30, 3053 2000 Hours
Resembling Terra during its early Cenozoic Era, the planet Dabih is a lush, forested world with deep oceans and vast deposits of fossil fuels. The limitless supply of oil, natural gas and the production of numerous industrial petrochemical products drive Dabih’s powerful export economy and assure its inhabitants a constant flow of income which any system would envy.
Just over two hundred kilometers east of the coastal resort of Barheilabad, the terrain gradually rises toward the continental spine and a series of rolling hills covered with dense tropical growth. Among those hills, carved out of the rain forests are a handful of large plantations owned by some of the Azami world’s wealthiest and most influential families.
Named after a federation of Terran North African tribes, Plantation Sanjaha is one of the many the properties on the Zairikesh continent owned by the noble As`Zaman family. Overlooking the orchards and verdant fields is a collection of whitewashed structures that may have been transplanted from one of the thousands of villages that once dotted the Mediterranean coasts of ancient Terra. The spacious enclosed courtyards, the terra-cotta tiles that covered the shallow-pitched rooftops and the first basalt stones of Plantation Sanjaha were laid in place almost five centuries earlier under the strict direction of Jamshid Pasha As`Zaman, the holy Imam who led his followers among the Azami sect when they first left Terra to settle on Dabih.
A large pavilion stood in the center of the main living quarters’ courtyard. The servants were busy clearing away ceramic plates and ornate serving trays, the remains of the evening meal served to the several guests who sat on thick, hand-woven rugs. At the head of the low table the middle-aged matron of the As`Zaman clan Sherifah Shabh’a smiled broadly, her teeth brilliant white in contrast to her swarthy skin. The Azami woman had many reasons to be happy- Her eldest son had taken the time from his busy schedule to visit her earlier in the day, the seasonal harvest was nearly complete but most important of all she was surrounded by several of her beloved grandchildren. The Sherifah sat cross-legged on the thick, wool rug with a heavy, leather-bound book of obvious great age splayed upon her lap. He slim fingers traced the lines of handwritten script as she read and translated the ancient text to her rapt audience.
“Then Shahrazad went in to King Shahriyar and Dunyazad to King Shah Zaman and each of them solaced himself with the company of his beloved consort and the hearts of the folk were comforted. When morning morrowed, the Wazir came in to the two kings and kissed ground before them; wherefore they thanked him and were large of bounty to him. Presently they went forth and sat down upon couches of kingship, whilst all the Wazirs and Emirs and Grandees and Lords of the land presented themselves and kissed ground.”
Nine year old Mellila had been sitting on her favorite silk pillow so quietly all evening while listening to the last tale of the series of stories her grandmother had read to the children during visits for as long as she could remember. Usually the children would all sit in silence and pay attention; the younger ones would curl up in a servant’s lap and fall asleep the way six-year-old Leila had before half the story was finished.
The matron paused from reciting the story and tilted her head to one side, “Yes, Mellila?”
“Grandmother…” The young girl shifted on her silk pillow. “Is the story true? Did our family once rule over Samarkand?”
The Sherifa dipped her head, “It is all true dearest grandchild- although to outsiders, few, if any, know the full story.” She gently turned the hand-illuminated parchment pages of the ancient tome and finally closed the thick, leather and metal-bound covers. “Let me tell you the tale of our family’s name, As’Zaman.”
Forty-Third Floor
Hotel Plantagenet
Chu-i Miyamoto stood out on the conference room balcony and leaned against the railing. The night was clear and cool with a gentle breeze from the ocean. The stars shone brightly and the young DCMS officer could see lines of flickering torches along the pristine beach. Somewhere, from one of the lower floors, the strains of Amazighen tribal music drifted. The glass door slid open behind her.
“Miyamoto-san, As`Zaman-sama has dismissed us for the evening.” It was Chu-i Kagawa- he stuck his head out the door and eyed the view. “The rest of us are going to get something to eat- they’d like to know if you wanted come with us.”
Miyamoto thought for a brief moment and looked down. “Do you think that they are throwing a party down there?”
Kagawa blinked, “Excuse me?”
“The music,” Miyamoto said. “What kind of party do you think it is?”
“Just shut down the power- we can continue where we left off in the morning,” said Mohammed Bey. He buttoned his tunic and took a quick glance at his reflection.
Chu-i Onishi stepped into the conference room. “Sir, there is a man named Reis from the hotel staff inquiring if you are available to speak.” The junior officer bowed slightly, “Should I tell him that you are too busy?”
“Show the man in,” As`Zaman replied. “He works for me as well.”
The middle-aged Azami gentleman bowed, “Please forgive this intrusion, my Bey.” He wore the uniform of one of the hotel’s front desk supervisors.
Mohammed Bey returned the bow, “Good evening, Djamal. Is everything in order?” The Azami noble smiled. He gestured to the man, “Chu-i Onishi, this is Djamal Reis. He is the Assistant Manager of this hotel.” He nodded to Reis, “Djamal, this is Chu-i Onishi, one of my staff officers.”
Room 2808
2030 Hours
Chu-i Harumi Miyamoto looked at her reflection in the full-length mirror and sighed- She wished that she had more time to get ready but there just wasn’t enough notice- At least she had the opportunity to wear her evening gown. The knock on the door made her turn.
“Miyamoto-san, are you ready yet?” Chu-i Kagawa’s voiced sounded tinny through the small speaker.
The DCMS woman swiftly walked to the door and opened it. “Yes, I’m ready.” She then noticed the long, brown robe and white kefiyya Kagawa wore. “Where did you get that?” Her slim fingers covered her grin.
The chu-i frowned, “Mohammed-sama gave all the men these costumes.” He seemed noticeably uncomfortable, especially with the cloth headgear. “It isn’t fair- he didn’t make you dress like one of his women.”
Harumi covered her mouth and laughed, “Nobody’s forcing you to dress like that- it was a request after all.”
The Draconis Combine man growled and spun on his heel, “I, for one, will not take any chances- in the DCMS a commander’s invitation is no different than a direct order.”
The lift doors slid open and the two DCMS officers stepped into the hotel’s corridor. Chu-i Miyamoto was awed by the sumptuous décor, from the maroon carpet to the gilt-trimmed walls. She had always dreamed of visiting such a high-class vacation establishment but never imagined that it would be connected to her choice of a military career.
“That should be it up ahead,” Kagawa announced to Miyamoto. “I see Onishi-san, Fukuoka-san, Teruya-san and the old man waiting by the doorway.”
The young woman found the term “old man” somewhat annoying. “You shouldn’t speak so disrespectfully about our commander.”
The chu-i winced at the scolding, “Sorry.” He had forgotten that everyone in the Eighth Arkab Training Cadre staff was aware of how Miyamoto worshipped the sho-sa as a great hero.
Sho-sa As`Zaman bowed. “Thank you for accepting the invitation.” Like the other men he wore the tawb, a light cloth robe with embroidery over his uniform. Unlike the others, his robe was pure white and he wore the cylindrical felt tarboush headgear, green and wound with a white cloth. The Azami officer reached into a tunic pocket and pulled out several coins. “Before we go in I have to give you these.”
Miyamoto’s eyes were very wide. “Is that gold?” The other officers quickly surrounded their commander to take a look at the gleaming coins.
“Of course,” replied Mohammed Bey. “You are to give these to the bride and groom as they pass our table- I don’t expect you to give them your own money and it would be rude to accept their invitation and come empty-handed, would it not?”
“Thank you, sir!” chimed Onishi as several coins dropped into his open palm. He stepped away, eyes glued to the polished disks that reflected the light from the chandeliers. If he calculated correctly, each of the officers would be giving the couple the equivalent of a month’s pay for an active duty chu-i.
“Whose image is this on the coin?” Miyamoto asked. She shut her left eye and held the gold piece up so she could compare it to Mohammed Bey’s face.
“Oh, that isn’t me, Miyamoto-san!” As`Zaman replied. “That is my grandfather, Uzmir Mohammed Pasha.” He shook his head, “May the day that my image on a gold coin be many years away, for that would mean my grandfather and father have both passed unto Allah’s care.” He bowed his head and his usually cheerful face turned solemn for a brief moment.
The Combine officers suddenly felt very awkward.
“Come, my friends!” the Azami sho-sa returned to his usual, almost cavalier self, “Let’s not dwell on depressing possibilities but celebrate the happy future of the bride and groom!”
Parsippany Spaceport
Algedi
Draconis Combine
0900 Hours
Sho-sa Elias Bahar bowed, “Welcome to Algedi, Tai-sa Graham- I hope your journey wasn’t too tiring.”
The taller DCMS officer returned the bow, “Thank you, sho-sa- We are a long way from Chatham.” His blue eyes squinted due to the bright sunlight. “Ah, I forgot to unpack my shaded visor when I claimed my luggage.”
Bahar signaled for the porters to load the visiting officer’s luggage, “Quickly!” He motioned to Graham, “Come, the limousine’s windows are sufficiently screened from Algedi’s harsh sun.” He opened the waiting vehicle’s door and waited for the tai-sa to enter the passenger compartment before following. With a quick glance he checked the other vehicles- The 9th Pesht had been pulled from the front lines for replacements and what was left of their battlemech forces had been sent to Algedi for training.
“I’ll be happy to rest in a regular bed- even just for a few hours.” Graham admitted. “According to the briefing packet we do have a couple of days to acclimatize, isn’t that correct?”
“Certainly,” Bahar relied. “It will take time for your equipment to be delivered to base and they all have to be fitted with the training simulation gear and have the proper software installed.”
The DCMS officer rubbed his tired eyes and nodded, “For once I’m glad that our battlemechs will take time to be ready.”
The Azami officer took his place in the spacious passenger compartment and the duty driver shut the door. “Please accept my apologies in the commander’s behalf- He is on Dabih with the training section assigned to that system.”
The 9th Pesht’s officer held up a hand, “I understand- It must be difficult to command a unit with personnel located on two different systems.” He looked at Bahar and noted the khaki academy braids and campaign patch with “Luthien” embroidered on its scroll.
Bahar noticed the officer’s expression of surprise.
“I see you were on Luthien.” Graham commented. The limousine glided forward as it departed the spaceport terminal.
Elias touched the patch with a finger. “The 8th Arkab fought on Luthien- this was our first and last battle honor.” He could see the officer’s further surprise and knew he would have little trouble entertaining the visiting tai-sa on the long drive to the military reserve.
Algedi Prefecture Miltary Reserve
1230 Hours
Tai-i Stephanie Rezin removed her compact neural helmet and secured it in the small locker located behind her Panther’s command couch while her personal technician and his crew scurried along the catwalks of the hangar’s repair scaffolding. She cracked open the primary access hatch and extended the lift arm from which dangled a stirrup attached to a woven metal cable. The Azami officer stood on her battlemech’s head and leaned over to address the tech who affixed cables to the open panel near the machine’s left heel. “Yattui!”
The swarthy man in his mid-thirties wore stained, khaki coveralls. He snapped to attention then tilted his head to look up at the female pilot and responded in a calm voice. “I am here, Mistress Rezin!”
“I shall be on the combat maneuver range tomorrow,” she informed Yattui. “See that my weapon systems are properly calibrated by zero six hundred, local time.” The officer placed a boot in the stirrup, gripped the cable in her left hand and activated the remote with her right. The arm swung out clear of the Panther’s torso and the cable lowered the pilot to the concrete surface.
The servant bowed, “I shall attend to it myself, Mistress!”
The tai-i closed the office door and sat down in the padded chair, her wrists on the armrests. The sudden quiet was welcome- the thick insulated walls were designed to prevent the sometimes-deafening noise of the active battlemech maintenance hangar from distracting somebody working on administration duties.
A fist thumped against the door. Rezin sighed and called out, “Enter!”
A Cadre infantryman opened the door and stepped into office. He snapped to attention and executed a crisp, Federated Suns-style palm-up salute; his right heel struck the floor in a comically sharp manner. “I deliver an official message, Madam Captain!” He shouted to drown out the din of machinery and work from the hangar. His left hand cradled a thick packet in a gray envelope.
The Azami woman rose from her comfortable chair and returned the salute. “Very good, soldier- Leave it on my desk and carry on with your duties.” Her slim fingers grasped the packet and she looked at the seal from Luthien Training Command. The soldier made a swift “about face” and Rezin realized something as he stepped out of the office. “And don’t slam the…”
Heishi Botsford shut the door behind him and froze- He did hear the first part of the tai-i’s order quite clearly and a split-second too late to prevent what subsequently happened- The portal closed with a thunderous crash that seemed to render all other sounds in the hangar trivial in measure. It was then that the soldier from the nondescript, backwater Federated Suns world of Hecheng concluded that he should avoid returning to the hangar area for the next few days.
At the left ankle of one of the Eighth Arkab’s spare Crab battlemechs, Master Battlemech Technician Ali Iften laughed as the infantryman scampered out of the hangar and sped away in a solar-powered groundcar. Unlike the other technicians, the thirty-six year old wore a white lab coat over his khaki coveralls. He returned his attention to his calibration equipment. “Tajj, the frequency readings are within tolerance.” Iften twisted the connectors, the cables pulled away and retracted to the portable console. The master technician tapped the keys on his communicator. “Mamoud, are you finished yet?” He impatiently stroked his mustache. “Yes, I know- We must have that unit operating by tomorrow if we have to work all night.” He tapped a small button on the communication unit, pulled a stylus from the breast pocket of his lab coat and took up his databoard. “Tajj, take a break- Mamoud has to replace his calibration table so his C³ unit won’t be ready for another hour.”
While Sho-sa As`Zaman was away on Dabih, Sho-sa Bahar took command of the Eighth Arkab Training Cadre. When a unit was scheduled for training the bulk of their assets would first train on the desert world of Algedi and a portion would train on Dabih, which had a wider variation of terrains and environs in which to hold maneuvers. Because Algedi had the larger military facilities, over two thirds of the Training Cadre called the arid planet their home, although the unit’s commander had a policy of rotating the unit’s trainers between systems, with about a quarter of the unit taking time off from teaching for a month at any time.
Bahar had greeted the commander of the latest visiting unit, the 9th Pesht earlier in the day and now that he was in the climate-controlled comfort of his office, there were important preparations to which he had to attend. His secretary, Gunsho Yasmina Ruza, stepped though the door holding a silver tray with teapot and ceramic cups. “Chai, sir?”
“Thank you, Yasmina,” Bahar said. “Are there any complaints from the Pesht people?”
The Azami woman shook her head, “Nothing as of yet, sir.” She poured steaming green tea into a cup. “The bladesmith delivered the order of jambiyas- I have seen them and they are very fine.”
Bahar sat up in his padded chair, “I’d love to have a look at them.” This would be the first time that he would be representing the Eighth Arkab in welcoming the officers of a visiting unit in the traditional ceremony, which included meeting significant members of the visiting unit’s staff, the exchanging of gifts, a very expensive meal and a series of toasts. The Eighth’s package of gifts included a high-quality, hand-forged jambiya with a blade containing layers of steel fused with an alloy of metal forged out of meteorite fragments found in Algedi’s vast deserts. Other gifts included a kilogram of green tea and a box of cigars from Dabih.
“You know,” Bahar said, “our last visitors just brought a few bottles of saki.” He shrugged at the thought. “I wish I was a visiting commander.”
Ruza shyly covered her smile with a hand. “Our Bey knows that word of these valuable gifts shall spread- That alone will make DCMS units less hesitant about training here.”
The Azami officer nodded. “That may be so but the gifts seem like more of a bribe for coming here.” He reached over to his computer and activated the holographic display. “Well, the Pesht people will have a couple of days to rest and acclimatize themselves.”
“How are they?” The gunsho asked. “I mean, they are the first DCMS unit to attend training here- What do you know about them?”
“Not very much, really,” replied Bahar. He inserted a memory chip and several blocks of data hovered over his desk. “They are rated as a reserve or garrison quality unit…”
“That isn’t good, is it?”
The officer shook his head, “Not good at all.” He highlighted a block. “It says here that they faced the Clans and took severe losses.” He expanded the section of text. “The surviving Ninth Pesht elements managed to withdraw by throwing their conventional forces, their armor and infantry, at the invaders to slow them down. The sacrifice allowed two battalions of battlemechs to escape.”
The clerk bowed her head slightly. “All those soldiers…”
Bahar nodded, “They are rated as a reserve or garrison unit- Even we were a front-line quality unit and I’ll be the first to admit that the invaders are a formidable challenge.”
Hotel Plantagenet
Dabih
2200 Hours
Chu-i Toshiaki Kagawa bit his lip as the Banker at the Pharaon table discarded the first card from the deck and turned over the Banker’s Card.
“Queen of Hearts,” declared the Banker in a bland voice. The Croupier collected the chips placed upon the Queen of Spades. Kagawa cursed under his breath, collected what few of his chips that remained and left his seat.
Chui-i Harumi Miyamoto inserted another silver coin in the ornate machine and pulled the handle. The young woman calmly watched the spinning images in the three windows and as they stopped one at a time, dipped her slim fingers into the paper cup and drew out another shiny coin.
“Are you still playing this machine?”
Miyamoto turned. “Kagawa-san!” She was a little embarrassed as she had been dropping coins into the machine for over half an hour.
“You ought to try one of the card games- at least there’s some skill involved.” His eye found a mirror and he paused to check his hair.
“I really don’t understand cards.” Another coin rattled into the gambling machine’s insides and her tugged at the worn metal arm. Other than the chaotic ringing of bells and flashing lights the metal contraption refused to yield any reward. “Stupid thing!”
“I’m surprised you didn’t accompany the old sooltan to watch the show.” He examined the machine beside the one into which Miyamoto fed coins at regular intervals. “Wow, these are museum pieces.”
“I hate this stupid machine.” The Combine officer sighed as she slipped one more silver coin into the slot. She wasn’t as angry at the gambling machine as she was at herself- Why wasn’t she enjoying the show with the commander? She was just about to say something to the other officer when a sudden cacophony of bells accompanied by brightly flashing lights flooded her senses.
“Oh! Did I break it?” She backed away from the machine a split second before a torrent of silver coins spilled into the tray and overflowed onto the thick carpet.
Kagawa slapped his forehead with an open palm.
The singer had dark hair that fell in wavy cascades to her shoulders, a dark blue dress that shimmered under the stage lights and elbow-length gloves that matched her clothes. Her soprano voice didn’t have operatic strength but more of a youthfully delicate and languid quality.
“Parlez-moi d'amour
Redites-moi des choses tendres
Votre beau discours
Mon cœur n'est pas las de l'entendre
Pourvu que toujours
Vous répétiez ces mots suprêmes:
‘Je vous aime’”
“There you are, Mohammed-sama…”
The Azami officer held up a hand to silence the Chu-i. Without breaking his attention to the woman on stage, he motioned to the empty chairs at his table and indicated that the waiting DCMS officers take the seats. Without a word, Miyamoto took her place across the table from the commander. Kagawa kept silent, slid into another chair and waited for As`Zaman to acknowledge his presence.
“Vous savez bien
Que dans le fond je n'en crois rien
Mais cependant je veux encore
Écouter ce mot que j'adore
Votre voix aux sons caressants
Qui le murmure en frémissant
Me berce de sa belle histoire
Et malgré moi je veux y croire…”
Miyamoto had seen the commander similarly rapt in intense concentration while he observed unit maneuvers in his mobile command center. There was one difference- She looked at the table noticed that he had left his cigar sitting on a ceramic tray long enough for the tobacco to cease burning. She leaned over to her fellow junior officer and whispered, “He must really like the show.”
Kagawa rolled his eyes and tried to figure out a way to flag down a waiter and order a drink without the sho-sa noticing.
“Il est si doux
Mon cher trésor, d'être un peu fou
La vie est parfois trop amère
Si l'on ne croit pas aux chimères
Le chagrin est vite apaisé
Et se console d'un baiser
Du cœur on guérit la blessure
Par un serment qui le rassure…”
Galaport
Galatea
Federated Commonwealth
January 25, 3050, 2230 Hours
Club de Rivoli had a larger than normal crowd that night. Many of the regulars were there, numerous celebrities and of course, the paparazzi. That evening, Yvette Renaud was the main attraction.
At his private booth overlooking the dance floor, Lieutenant Mohammed As`Zaman Bey sipped his tea and entertained his close friends.
“I can't believe our unit is in such a slump for missions.” Lieutenant Elias Bahar complained. “Why doesn't Colonel Valborg wise up and move to Outreach where all the units with decent reputations have already gone.”
“I agree that it makes little sense,” Lieutenant Rachel Benhaddad commented. “Over the years, this place has gradually gone downhill and its like a ghost town compared to ten years ago.”
“Ten years ago, Galatea was already in decline.” As`Zaman said. “If a unit didn't want to be noticed, this is the place.”
Bahar took a quick glance at his watch. “Listen, I'm heading home- I hope the wife isn't waiting up.” He looked at Mohammed Bey. “You, dear brother, have two wives and your children to deal with- Get some rest.” He stood up and put the tasseled maroon tarboush on his head. “Good night, my Bey, Dame Rachel.”
Mohammed Bey stood up and bowed, “Good night, Elias. I'll see you in the morning.”
Benhaddad waved. “Good night.” After Lt. Bahar stepped through the curtained partition she turned to As`Zaman. “He's right, it is getting late.”
The Azami officer nodded. “Yes, I do agree but I am not here for me, dear Rachel, but for a friend.”
Benhaddad winced, “Morrigan...what does she need from you now?” She made the idea sound painful.
“She didn't say,” Mohammed Bey replied, “only that it was very important.” He pulled his cigar case from inside his tunic and opened it, “Cigar?” He smiled when Dame Rachel wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “Yes, a noxious habit but I have to relax.” He clipped the end of the cigar and used one of the candles on the table to light it.
“She always calls you when she needs help.” Rachel said. “I mean, I don't blame you for helping with the therapy to get over her addiction but she makes enough money from her recordings and holovids to hire better help- I thought she'd finally leave you alone after you got married.”
“Listen, Darya is my friend.” As`Zaman said. “When her parents were killed in the 3039 war, she had nobody else.” He took the woman's hand. “I am a man who has so much... I cannot abandon my friends, no matter how much they may stumble and fall.”
“You still love her.”
He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers. “I still love you.”
Benhaddad suddenly felt guilty. “Just be careful, Mohammed.” She sighed. “Alright, I guess I'll be going home as well.” He grabbed her stole and draped it over her bare shoulders. “Don't get up for me, my Bey.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Tell the children that Aunt Rachel will pay them a visit soon.”
“Have you been waiting long?”
As`Zaman immediately recognized Darya Morrigan's voice. He didn't turn to look as she took the chair beside his but he put his cigar down when she kissed him on the cheek.
“I've accepted a contract in the Free Rasalhague Republic and I may be gone for a long time.” She told him. “I really need a favor from you since you are the only one I could trust.”
“Name it.” He replied without a pause. He could hear her begin to weep and turned. Darya was there, dressed in a flowing green velvet gown. He then noticed a young boy, possible four or five years of age, sitting in another chair at the table. The boy wore a school uniform and his eyes darted about the unfamiliar surroundings.
Morrigan took the boy's hand. “This is my son, Sean.” Her voice still wavered. “Please take care of him while I am away- The people who usually care for him have left Galatea and I don't have the time to find anyone else.”
Mohammed Bey's mind raced for a hundred different reasons why he could not possibly take the boy in but he stood up. “Of course- I shall personally see to it that Sean is taken care of as if he were one of my own.”
Darya stood up and hugged the lieutenant, “Thank you, thank you...”
On the stage, the singer finished the last chorus of her song:
“Parlez-moi d'amour
Redites-moi des choses tendres
Votre beau discours
Mon cœur n'est pas las de l'entendre
Pourvu que toujours
Vous répétiez ces mots suprêmes:
‘Je vous aime’”
_________________ [i]And Allah turned back the unbelievers in their rage; they did not obtain any advantage, and Allah sufficed the believers in fighting; and Allah is Strong, Mighty.[/i] from The Koran, 33rd Sura- The Clans
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